


Embers

by Deos



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deos/pseuds/Deos
Summary: Iroh reflects.
Relationships: Aang/Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 207
Collections: Heartlines Expanded Universe, Prose From the Abyss





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Heartlines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805152) by [kuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi). 



> Go read Heartlines if you haven't!

The sun and sands of Ember Island are warm, baking radiant heat up through the slats of Iroh’s wooden chair. Puffy white clouds drift serenely toward the mainland, floating like fat whales through a sky blue enough to put even the ocean to shame. Under the umbrella he’s comfortable and sleepy, lulled by the cool breeze rolling off the sea. 

This vacation has been a long time coming. 

"Over here, Zuko!"

The low roar of the waves are broken by shouts and splashes. Iroh cracks open one eye to watch as the young Avatar waves both arms at his nephew enthusiastically, nearly upending himself in the ocean as he does. He's cut off by a wave of water; Katara lifting a barricade. 

Aang's gotten so tall. Katara has to raise the water nearly eight feet before Aang's waving hands disappear behind it, but even that can't stop him. He shoots into the sky and Zuko throws a ball high over Sokka's block.

"No fair!" Sokka tosses his head, clearing strings of wet hair out of his eyes. "Not all of us can leap ten feet in the air!"

"Told you already, I'll help you out if you come a little closer." Toph is standing just outside the surf, constructing an elaborate multilayered city in the damp sand. Turning her attention away from her work, she stamps one foot down. A column of wet sand erupts from the ocean like a breaching dolphin, scarcely a foot from where Sokka stands.

"Thanks but no thanks," Sokka says as the sand dissolves back into the water. "I'd really like to have children someday." 

He is, of course, referring to the disastrous previous attempt to incorporate Toph into his team yesterday, an event that had made even Iroh wince. Katara’s skill as a healer has improved immensely.

"If you'd come a little closer I’d be able to see you better," she retorts. “Then maybe you’d win a game of keep-away!” 

Their back and forth bickering is beginning to be as familiar to him as the cries of the seagulls. Iroh closes his eyes again and lets them go at it. Normally he might intervene, offer a word of caution or understanding - but he knows better now. This is their own form of bonding.

He tucks his arms behind his head and sighs.

***

After dinner that night they’re back on the beach again, toasting puffs of sweet althaea root over a low fire. 

“Man, your family has the best vacation spots.” Aang nudges Zuko’s shoulder as he leans back onto the sand, waiting. His root is beginning to brown on one side, dripping bubbles of foam out the end. “I wish the air acolytes had their own private beach!”

Zuko shakes his head, gold headpiece flashing in the firelight. “I told you, it’s not ours. Loads of other Fire Nation officials have vacation homes here.”

“What, the officials you dismissed once you became Fire Lord?” This time it’s Katara who pipes up, but her tone is teasing. She’s on Zuko’s other side, rotating her stick carefully to evenly cook the root. 

She does have a point though. A number of Ozai’s officials were unceremoniously retired after his nephew was crowned; a move Iroh had highly encouraged. Old guards tend to stagnate, stuck in the previous regime. And as they had fallen out of favor, so had their company - many of the homes around now lie vacant. This beach is as private as it can be, barring complete ownership of the island.

“He mabe ba righd choith!” Sokka rushes to defend Zuko from an imaginary attack, mouth stuffed with puffs of chewy althaea. “Thothe guyth were a bund of jerkth!” With the last word a white glob falls from his mouth, landing on his shirt.

“I don’t even have to see that to know it looks gross,” Toph complains from her supine position in the sand. “How does Suki put up with you?”

Suki, Sokka’s fiancée, had been unable to join them. The Kyoshi Warriors had taken their role as the Fire Lord’s protectors very seriously, traveling with a false convoy to act as a decoy. It was they who would draw the attention of any of the reactionary groups that still lingered, and she they had to thank for their undisturbed vacation. 

“Got something on your shirt,” Aang points out.

“Aw, man!” Sokka plucks at the stain, but the sticky substance refuses to come off. He runs for the water, a dark shape kicking up clouds of sand as he goes.

Aang’s laugh hasn’t changed one bit - it’s as high and clear as a bell, childlike and infectious. 

But none of them are children anymore; the weight of responsibility has molded them into adults before their time. It had taken a full day on Ember Island before they'd been able to relax out of their roles and simply _enjoy_ the beach _._

In time that too will get easier.

Overhead the moon is full, turning the ocean into a black, shimmering well of stars. The sands are blue but for the dim circle of orange the fire casts, the heat drained from the day as swiftly as a candle winking out. Iroh reaches for his cup of tea, channeling chi through his palm into the china to warm it.

“Hey, could you hand me another althaea root?” Katara points casually to the basket, popping the last of her root into her mouth.

“Sure!”

It’s Aang who reaches for it, leaning as far as his cross-legged seating will allow. He’s like a kid trying to reach a toy without leaving the confines of his bed; the basket is just outside of his reach, but stubbornly he refuses to get up. Forcing his hand one inch closer he overbalances and grabs for something to anchor himself.

Aang’s hand lands high on Zuko’s thigh, an act that to the casual observer would be nothing but natural. He draws a root from the basket and pulls himself back up. When he passes the root to Katara he catches her gaze, and they both turn to Zuko. The look between the three of them smolders, bright with something unspoken; Katara presses closer, boxing Zuko in on the other side as she takes the treat from Aang. If her arm is moving behind Zuko, he can’t see it - but the way his nephew freezes tells him everything.

Nervous golden eyes dart toward him. Iroh pretends to drink deeply from his teacup, and in the ensuing seconds Aang’s hand slips swiftly away. Katara wedges the root on her stick, the tension broken.

Iroh wonders how long his nephew will try to hide it. From the public, perhaps indefinitely. From him, perhaps the same. His nephew’s romantic life is, after all, none of his business. 

But it is gratifying to see that Zuko has found love. After his relationship with Mai had fallen through, Iroh had worried. The duties of the Fire Lord can be all-consuming, especially in the wake of Ozai’s dethroning and the constant calamities that seem to have arisen every year after. It would have been all too easy for Zuko to lose himself.

Aang tries to coax a lick of flame away from the fire, rotating it in a glowing ring up and down his sweet root to toast it evenly. Katara reaches around Zuko to prod Aang’s side, causing him to jerk in surprise. The flame dies, and she laughs.

The mood between the three of them is as warm as the fire’s glow. Toph may sense it too; she excuses herself inside shortly thereafter, followed by a sopping wet Sokka. Iroh drains the rest of his tea and nods a goodnight, heading up the path to the house.

When he reaches the door of the bungalow he looks back just once. From this distance it’s hard to make much out but the bright shape of them pressed together, one form softened by the shadows. 

He has never seen his nephew happier. And Iroh is so very, very glad.


End file.
